


Home Is Where the Healing Is

by WinterPoet



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Mild Internalized Homophobia, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-War, Self-Harm, teen stucky trying to figure things out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-01-26
Packaged: 2018-05-16 08:21:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5821123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterPoet/pseuds/WinterPoet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world is a harsh place, and it wears you down. Sometimes all Steve can think to do is hurt himself so that maybe he'll feel something again. Something besides helpless pining for his best friend. </p><p>Steve and Bucky falling in love, with mentions of Steve self-harming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home Is Where the Healing Is

**Author's Note:**

> Read the tags, please, I don't want anyone getting triggered or upset. The "mild internalized homophobia" is just Bucky calling himself a pervert, and it isn't explored in detail. The self-harm however, is much more prevalent. I wrote this story as a way of kind of working through my own issues with self-harm. It sort of became a love letter to myself saying "See, this isn't the end. One day, somebody's gonna love you _and_ your scars." 
> 
> I just want to make it clear that I'm not just throwing in self-harm as a lazy plot point. I also don't want this to come across as romanticizing self-harm. There is nothing good about self-harm, I promise you. If you are self-harming, work towards stopping, or seeking counsel. It's a process, but it's worth it. Anyways, enjoy the fic!

Bucky was fourteen the first time he found Steve with a blade in his hand and blood on his wrists.

"Jesus Steve, what the hell are ya doing?" Bucky yelled, frozen for a moment as he tried to understand what he was seeing.

"Watch your mouth Barnes," Steve muttered quietly. "God's always listenin'."

"And right now God cares more about me patchin' up his favorite Catholic than he does about my mouth. Come on, we gotta clean up those cuts or they'll get infected."

Bucky practically carried Steve to the kitchen sink and turned on the water.

"Run your arm under that while I try to find some bandages."

Steve obeyed orders and began to sniffle as the water splashed against his wrists, mixing with the blood and swirling down the drain. Bucky came back with one hand full of tattered bandages and the other wrapped around a bottle of iodine.

"These are the ones I used last month after that Gallagher kid did a number on me with his newfangled bike but Ma boiled 'em and-" Bucky cut off mid-sentence suddenly overcome, dropped what was in his hands and wrapped his arms right around Steve. "God Stevie, don't do it again; promise me you won't do it again."

"Buck you sap, is that actual emotion I detect in your voice?" replied Steve, aiming for dry and sarcastic but sounding sad and broken instead.

"I'm not jokin' punk, that's a road I don't wanna see you go down," Bucky said crossly as he knelt down to grab the bandages and iodine. He shut off the water and ignored Steve's grimace as he coated the cuts in iodine.

"I was sick of it," Steve said quietly.

"Hmm?" came Bucky's confused response.

"I was sick of feeling so small. I was sick of the other guys making me the butt of each of their jokes and the target for each for their throws. I was sick of waking up each mornin' and not wantin' to exist anymore. I dunno, I guess I felt like I was finally takin' control of somethin'. Like I could spend all of my rage on myself and maybe I'd feel better. I swear I wasn't gonna do anything more than I did." Steve sighed, as if that explanation had taken the last of his energy out of him.

Bucky looked up from Steve's arm, where he had been wrapping a tiny wrist with the bandage. He smiled sadly and brought his hand to Steve's cheek, brushing the fair strands of hair that hung over his face back.

"Don'tcha know that God doesn't like it when you swear, Stevie?" He chuckled softly as Steve stuck his tongue out in response. "Seriously bud, you know I'll clobber anybody you need me to. Just promise you won't do it again."

"God hates liars too, Buck."

"Listen to me. Nobody in their right mind could hate you Stevie. Now come 'ere."

Bucky threw his arms around Steve a second time, staying just a bit longer than necessary. And if his lips brushed Steve's forehead as he stood up, then well, they were both tired and it was probably an accident anyway.

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After that, Bucky pretended not to notice the occasional mark on Steve's arms, and Steve pretended not to notice the way that Buck looked at him sometimes, with deep concern and a flash of fear in his eyes. Neither of them said anything about their observations to each other, or to their parents, and they went on like that, following rules set forth in an unwritten contract they both had signed.

Steve was normally careful, and that was why Bucky never said anything. Steve's ma had enough to worry about, even though Bucky was sure she knew, he had no idea on how to get Steve to quit, so he just let it be. Once or twice a month, he saw a few thick, angry welts or a dozen shallow scratches that coated Steve's wrists, but they were always fully healed before new ones appeared. Until then, they were well bandaged, or one time Buck swore, stitched. Bucky just thanked his lucky stars that Steve had a nurse for a mother, or it might have been worse.

Steve had been sick, sicker than he ever had before. His mother had to work three jobs to pay for the meds they needed, so Bucky was left in charge of Steve. The stubborn punk insisted on changing his clothes himself - _I'm not a baby, Buck_ \- until the fever finally forced him him into a delirious sleep that kept him out for longer than normal. Bucky watched Steve for a moment, then placed his hand on Steve's forehead. He frowned as he pulled his hand away, and set about undressing Steve in an attempt to cool him down. He pulled off the wife-beater Steve had on, folding it with care that he never put into his own clothing. Unbuttoning Steve's slacks, he gasped as he pulled them off of skinny hip bones that jutted out from a small frame. Running down Steve's skinny thighs were rows of scars, thin stripes that rose above the rest of the skin. Months of odd behavior finally made sense. Every time Steve refused to lounge naked during hot Brooklyn summers wasn't out of modesty, it was out of necessity. When he insisted on changing his own clothes, even when high on drugs and a fever that was baking his brain, it wasn't to protect his independence, it was to protect his secret.

Bucky bit back tears that definitely _weren't_ forming in his eyes, and folded Steve's slacks, setting them next to the wife-beater on the bedside table. And this time, there was no denying the kiss he placed on the Steve's flushed forehead or the way it lasted a touch too long to be brotherly. And not even Bucky could ignore the other kisses he pressed gingerly to Steve's skin; lips brushed softly against a heated cheek, pressed against a bony clavicle. Whispered "I'm sorry's" and "please don't die's" uttered between each kiss.

Bucky sighed and stood up, brushing the hair back from Steve's face one last time. He spared one last look at his sleeping friend, watched the tiny frame rise and fall with each ragged breath, his eyes full of unmasked adoration, and left the room. A moment passed, and Steve's eyes flew open. He touched his hand to each spot Bucky had kissed and blushed deeply, smiling to himself.

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Bucky hadn't let it show, but he'd wanted to cry when he got his orders. He didn't mind serving his country, hell, if it hadn't been for Stevie he wouldn't have minded dying for his country, but the thought of telling his pal the news had made his heart feel heavier than it ever had. And he was right to dread that moment. The way Steve's shoulders fell, the almost jealous look in his eyes, broke Bucky.

He couldn't do it, he thought feverishly. He couldn't leave Steve. Who would make sure he got patched up after every fight, whether it was with some jerk or himself? Who would tell him that it was gonna be okay or that he looked real handsome that day outta the blue to make him feel better? Oh god, who would hold Steve and let him cry into their shoulder on the days when it all came crashing down? Who was gonna keep him from fulfilling some death wish and enlisting? That was what finally pushed Bucky over and then he was sobbing and Steve was looking at him like he was crazy.

"Buck. Bucky. What's wrong? Look at me, Jesus, look at me. It's gonna be alright, I promise."

Bucky just cried harder. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that he had to leave Steve and it wasn't fair that Mrs. Rogers died and it especially wasn't fair that he was making Steve comfort him because Steve was the one who had real problems. Steve was the one who had a hard life and Bucky was making him be the one who made things okay.

"It's nothing, I'm fine. I swear," muttered Bucky but the effect was lost because he couldn't stop the tears still falling from his eyes and his nose was running like he was some snotty kid.

"C'mere you idiot. You're gonna put that ugly mug of yours on my shoulder and I'm gonna rub circles on your back and whisper good things to you and you're gonna let me or else," threatened Steve and Bucky finally yielded.

He curled up next to Steve on the couch and let himself cry like he hadn't since he was little. He cried over leaving Steve, and then it snowballed and he was crying over every bad thing that had ever happened and Steve, the saint that he was, stayed true to his word. He whispered compliments to Bucky and told him stories about when they were stupid kids until Bucky was just sniffling quietly and letting out the odd laugh at how dumb they used to be.

"I still can't believe you thought a squirrel bite was gonna give you the ability to climb trees," said Bucky, now more caught up in the story.

"I can't believe you let me go on believin' it until I'd gone and gotten myself bitten so I could try and get my kite outta a tree," shot back Steve. "What if I'd gotten rabies or somethin'? How'd that be for a grave? 'Here lies Steven Grant Rogers. Brave 'til the end, but just a bit too nutty for his own good'"

"Y'know," mused Bucky, "that wouldn't be half bad. They could open a park in your name. Think about that, eh Stevie? Rogers Park," Bucky announced, drawing himself up to sit across from Steve on the tattered sofa.

"There could be a playground for kids," suggested Steve.

"And a baseball field, like the one we always wished we had around here," added Bucky excitedly.

"And loads of benches so people can sit and feed birds and tons of open space and-"

Bucky stopped hearing what Steve was saying. All he could focus on was the glint in the young man's eyes, the way he waved his hands around as if his tiny body couldn't contain all the emotion Steve felt. All Bucky could do was take in the precious little details about Steve: the blue in his eyes that made him look prettier than any dame Bucky had ever met, the one strand of hair that never cooperated despite any amount of coaxing and always stood up or fell in Steve's face, the rosy color that dusted his cheeks and provided a gentle contrast to the paleness of the rest of him. Even the snot drying on the shoulder of Steve's jacket was proof of just how caring he was. But Bucky's eyes lingered longest on his lips. They weren't perfect, more cracked than any self-respecting girl would allow them to be, and nowhere near as vibrant in color. Still, they were mesmerizing.

"Hey, Buck, you listenin' to a word I'm saying? You're staring at me like I'm some sort of space alien. Buck?"

Bucky leaned forward, too tired to stop himself, his actions not fully computing with his brain. He was running on instinct now, and his instinct was always to love Steve. He pressed his lips gently to Steve's, savoring the feeling of warmth he felt. Until his head caught up to him. Until he realized that Steve wasn't kissing back and that oh God, he was kissing Steve. He was showing Steve what a dirty pervert he was and Steve wasn't kissing him back because Steve wasn't like him, Steve was pure. Steve was better.

Bucky pulled back with a gasp and began stuttering. "Oh God, Stevie I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to - I mean - I'm just really sorry." Bucky looked at Steve's blank expression, watched as he brought one shaking hand up to touch his lips and just stared at Bucky.

Buck began to panic, scrambling to the other end of the couch, words falling from his mouth in a rush. "I'm gonna go, okay? I'm just gonna leave. I won't bother you no more, Stevie." _Oh._ That got a reaction. Steve's face twisted; his brow furrowed in disgust. He moved to sit beside Bucky once more, and Buck braced himself for a punch, an insult, anything.

"James Buchanan Barnes, you have never bothered me. Annoyed me to death? Yes. Been obnoxious? Definitely. But never, _never_ , have I wanted you to leave me. Don't even say that. Don't even-" Steve's voice broke off, the strength he had spoken with earlier gone. "Please don't leave me," he begged, and grabbed Bucky's face to bring their lips together once more.

And then they were kissing again but this time, Steve was kissing back. It wasn't much. It was chaste, and simple, and really nothing to get excited about, but it still took Bucky's breath away. After years of waiting, he finally had what he wanted and it was so much better than he had ever imagined it could be.

They kissed until Steve had to pull back to breathe. Then they just looked at each other, with stupid smiles on both of their faces. They stared at each other for a long while, finding satisfaction in the simple act of exploring the other's eyes with their foreheads connected.

"Please don't leave me," Steve repeated. "I don't know if I can-" His voice cracked as tears began to well up in his eyes.

"I wish I didn't hafta." Bucky said quietly. "I wish we had done this earlier. I wish we had more time. I wish a lot of things, but that's all they are, is wishes. But we can make the most of this okay?" Bucky wiped away the tears threatening to spill onto Steve's sharp cheekbones with his thumb, and let it rest on Steve's chin.

"Okay," Steve agreed. He grinned mischievously and climbed onto Bucky, straddling his hips. "I guess that means we should stop moping and get back to business, huh?"

"Mhm," replied Bucky as he surged forward to catch Steve's lips once more.

Maybe this didn't change much. Steve still had problems. Bucky's kisses couldn't take away the emptiness Steve felt sometimes, nor could they keep Steve from hurting himself when things got bad. And for all his strength, Bucky had issues too. But maybe that was the point. They didn't magically heal each other, but in the other, each found solace. They found home.


End file.
